When I Met Ms. Jena
Usually when I came home, the events that would follow were so predictable that
they might as well have been scripted. Mom would be waiting at the airport, as
close to the gate as the security people would allow. The plane would arrive.
There would be hugs and a flood of tears. She would introduce her "Navy
Boy" to all of the wonderful people that had become her life long friends
during the hour wait. The drive home would be our time, to catch up on the
details of life forgotten during weekly phone calls. The remaining time between
the flight in and the flight home, whether two days or two weeks, would be a
steady stream of short visits,
balanced between the requirements of family and the friends I longed to see.
When the time was over, Mom would dutifully bring me back to the airport to
watch me go down the ramp and into the plane that would take me out of her
world again. She always turned her head in those last few seconds to hide the
tears, but I knew they were there.
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This trip was different. Nine months earlier, my Mom had called me in hysterics to tell me that Lori, my sister in law, had given birth to my niece. It didn't take higher math to figure out that she was still two and a half months shy of her due date. Halfway across the country is not a good place to be for a crisis, unless you can return. Thanks to the Navy and the schedule of a submarine, I was stuck in New England with no option to leave. It was via Ma Bell and the US Postal Service that I followed the struggles of a two pound two ounce fighter as she took on the world. I don't think that words exist that could describe the anticipation and worry that is involved in the first days of a preemie's life. If you have never been around an early birth child, cup your hands out in front of you; Jena could have laid there and only had her ankles dangling out in space. The most notable thing about her was a lack of the "baby fat" that gives a newborn that "healthy look". The fine digits that were her fingers had the slender length and proportion of an adult, but so small they could hide behind your thumb. This human, smaller than even the tiniest cat I have ever owned, suddenly became the center of my life. |
It is for no small reason that a pregnancy lasts for nine months; most children
need every second that they can get in the womb to survive the harsh
environment that we live in. My life focused around questions and progress
reports.
Will her lungs process enough oxygen to prevent brain damage? Will her eyes ever see? Will she walk? Will she talk? Will she ever know her Uncle Todd? After twenty-four hours, the tube feeding pure oxygen to her under-developed lungs was tentatively removed and my brother heard the sweet sound of his daughter crying for the first time. Four or five months is an eternity when spent on the edge of your seat. For every hurdle that followed, the doctors, nurses, and technicians would try to prepare the family for the worst. This test could prove that she would be bound to a wheelchair, or that test could mean she would have learning disabilities. I am glad that she didn't listen to the doomsayers, every one of the challenges that followed was met with style. It would be an injustice just to call her a fighter; she was the Rocky Balboa of preemies. Once she was out of the woods, the only thing I was waiting for was a chance to meet her. The road to Hallsville, so near the homestead and once so familiar that I could have navigated it with a blindfold, was now the route to my brother's house. When the apples fell from the tree, Scott rolled only a little when compared to my cross-country exit. As I drove that endless thirty miles, I couldn't help but feel a little sorry for my brother. Scott was a journeyman lineman for the local power company and had been out on call for the last thirty-six hours, fixing the problems wrought by the latest bit of East Texas weather. He would miss the first presentation of his daughter to me, that one moment, unique to siblings, when he could hold out Jena for the first time with the unsaid understanding of, "Hey little brother, look what I did. I'm quite pleased with myself." The thirty miles finally turned into thirty feet and then I was standing at the front door. My hand reached up almost by its on volition, while my brain panicked at the thought of a toddler's rejection. I was a stranger to this young person. What if the first meeting was a disaster of tears that could only be quieted by my exit? I knocked; my sister-in-law opened the door. With a quick "Hello," Lori backstepped to allow a full view of the room and the daughter of whom she was proud. 
Almost a year of anticipation was rewarded as Jena looked up. Her eyes lit up
with trust and love like I had never experienced before. She crawled toward me
with an exuberance that caught me by surprise and melted my heart at the same
time. Then she took a second look.
I have been told on many occasions that my brother and I strongly resemble each other, but never quite in this manner. Jena stopped in her tracks to reevaluate the situation. The thought must have been, "The daddy guy has been gone a long time. This one is close, but no cigar." As she cocked her head to check me out, I felt almost criminal. The look I had received and would always cherish was one of the private things reserved only for her father. |
When I realized what had occurred, my mind flashed back to previous worries,
but with a smile like a ray of sunlight bursting through a stormy sky, she let
me know I could try for second place. From that day on I have become a special
part of Jena's life.
The words
"UNCLE TODD"
are magic to her, evoking thoughts of wondrous far away places and my too
infrequent visits home. She will never remember our meeting except as a story
told in family folklore, but for me; it was a moment to cherish.
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